


The Breakdown of the British Government

by WordSorbet



Category: Mycroft Holmes and Greg Lestrade - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 06:57:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10781850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordSorbet/pseuds/WordSorbet
Summary: This was inspired by a video on Youtube, by Duchesscloverly. It is quite sad and I recommend obtaining a tissue box. Mycroft Holmes had been in what he thought was a discreet relationship with the Detective Inspector Gregory Lestrade. However as per the usual, his little brother is able to deduce otherwise. He is kind however and keeps his deductions to himself, until the unthinkable occurs. Mycroft is informed of Greg's unfortunate demise on a case he had assigned him to. The guilt washes over him and he then battles the onslaught of emotional turmoil that he normally tucks away from the rest of the world. Sherlock and John are forced to become involved and only time will tell of the end result of this battle... ***TRIGGER WARNING***





	The Breakdown of the British Government

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Echo | Mycroft+Lestrade | Extended Version](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/287664) by duchesscloverly. 



Gregory had left Mycroft's office. It was raining hard. Details of their meeting could be considered, 'classified'..as Mycroft rushed to grab his umbrella just before the Detective Inspector could reach the sedan. He rushed out the door, barely having opened the umbrella, and stood on the stoop as though he were silently beckoning his recent guest. Gregory, who was now dripping wet in his lengthy trenchcoat that he commonly donned, looked at him with pause. He then quickly jaunted his way to Mycroft and now whilst under the discrete shield of the rain, embraced and gingerly kissed the other on his eager lips. Mycroft let his eyes drift as he fell into the emotional trap he knew to be dangerous. He had been in a relationship now with the Inspector for a solid few years. From a typical 'goldfish' point of view, there was nothing more going on than consistent meetings that revolved around assignments and work geared towards the fruitful well being of the British government. To Mycroft's little brother, the famous, Sherlock Holmes, they had been entangled in this tryst for a long time and he remained a subtle tease and used it to his advantage when the occasion called for it. 

Greg broke the physical contact, and with a moment to gaze upon the man he had to keep a secret from the world for risk of discovering the true nature of their connection, he then swallowed thickly and with a knowing nod turned to enter the transport back to New Scotland Yard. Mycroft oddly stood there on his stoop a moment folding up his umbrella. For one moment he felt a pang of dread flood his nerves. It unnerved him to the point of allowing the rain to soak heavily into his crisp white button up and sullying his baby blue silken tie. The rain streamed down his face as though it were some premonition of tears that would soon grace those sharp features. The clouds lingered heavily that day as he retreated into his office to complete a few generic tasks that required his attention. 

As evening fell and the curtains were drawn for the night. Mycroft decided to pour himself a well deserved nightcap and proceed to indulge in sitting before the fireplace and mulling over the various inner turmoils that rummaged around in his rather complex mind. He heard a faint buzzing of his phone. Figuring it was a text and nothing more, he continued to go about his evening and would tend to it when he was settled. Placing the glass on the stand next to his leather chair, he heard it buzzing almost angrily this time. As though the persistence was in earnest and his brow furrowed as he reached for the device. The screen lit up as it shown the concern on his face as a missed call and a text from his little brother blazed across his screen. --"Mycroft, call ASAP URGENT -SH"-- For Sherlock to be this persistent when attempting to gain his attention called for immediate response. Holding down one of the keys he instantly dialed the duo at 221B Baker St. As fate would have it, Mrs. Hudson answered the phone. Mycroft spoke with a subtle tone of concern in his voice. "Yes, Mrs. Hudson, would you be so kind as to fetch my little brother? He seems to be insistent that I speak with him." Her voice sounded melancholy and downright depressed. This was even more cause for concern. "Yes dear, do hold on, I will fetch him right away." Her compliance was even more disturbing. 

Sherlock had picked up the phone, yet there were no words that spewed forth as per the norm. Mycroft spoke after the ominous silence. "For God's sake Sherlock what could possibly be..." He was cut off as his brother with the most empathetic intonation spilled the words Mycroft feared hearing above all else. "...Mycroft...it's about Detective Inspector Lestrade." Another lengthy silence ensued as Mycroft attempted to withdraw himself and remain calm. However due to his crippling attachment to the man in subject, he instantly feared the worst. His grip on the phone grew tighter, his knuckles going white. "What's happened... Sherlock. Tell me.." He needed to hear it for it to resonate entirely. Sherlock with a soft and heavy vocal tone, explained it to his older brother. "He's dead Mycroft.. he was shot and fatally wounded while on an investigation. Molly is requesting as per protocol that I come and identify the body. I was wondering if you desired to join me." A single tear fell from the corner of Mycroft's eye as the flames of the fire evaporated it against his cheek. A moment had passed and as Sherlock offered his condolences, he interrupted him by confirming that he would join him in his quest. He hung up and would numbly dress himself and ready his mind for this atrocious mission. 

Now at the morgue, he had finished smoking his next to last cigarette as he stomped it out and threw it away before joining Sherlock in the main lobby. "Brother mine, I certainly appreciate your concern in this matter and I trust this will not take up an unnecessary amount of my precious time." Sherlock huffed at his cold manners in regards to such a great loss. However he knew that his brother was merely masking his true feelings and was not accustomed to the grieving process as most would. "I should think not brother dear... this way.." He led the way into the main room where there was a body covered on the slab. It took everything in Mycroft's power to resist the urge to show any sort of confirmation that he felt as deeply as he did for the deceased. Molly came forward and she was a bit less delicate, but still held an empathy in her words as she spoke them. To Mycroft it was all gibberish as he awaited the horrific moment that would require him to remain stoic as his lover was revealed from beneath the blue sheet of death. He nodded slightly as he gently thanked her before exiting the room. "Thank you Ms. Hooper." Sherlock remained only a moment longer to sign a few sorted documents in relation to Lestrade's funeral. The rest would be up to his ex-wife.

Sherlock shuffled through the doors wearing a stoic face, yet the words he spoke next would nearly break his brother. "I know you loved him... I am here should you need me." He turned to his brother and with gritted teeth he rebutted, "Lestrade is no longer your concern and you will stay out of it..." He turned and retreated to his office where he would find himself breaking internally. Voices haunting him, and apparitions that would seem to mock his very existence. He saw Greg as though he were alive, mulling about as if they were in one of their 'discrete' meetings. Flashbacks of lovemaking and Gregory teaching him to open himself up to such profound emotions. The lessons now held a dooming resonance and would now be Mycroft's undoing. Text messages were sent to Sherlock and John as though nothing had ever happened and described Greg as though he would arrive at their flat at any moment to ask for assistance with a precarious case. John being a doctor, was deeply concerned along with everyone else about Mycroft's mental state. 

They attempted an intervention where after about 6 months he was told once again that Greg had passed and he needed to accept it. This of course would only enrage the elder Holmes and he began to seclude himself to his home. Drinking and bearing the weight of the reality of the world without Gregory Lestrade. He began to lose sight of life beyond the walls of his abode. His only comfort now was countless security footage of their time together and the idea that there was nothing more to exist for. He felt a solace in the notion of perhaps joining his secret beloved and hoping that somehow they wouldn't need to keep their love hidden in the realm of heaven. One last act would result in a vague phone call in the early morning hours, when the world was silent and everything seemed at rest. Leaving a voicemail that would ultimately be his 'note'... he spoke into the receiver and in a collective correspondence said in a soft tone, "I'm sorry." 

Sherlock had by luck intercepted this voicemail and in a flash forced John to accompany him as they rushed to Mycroft's home. He opened the door and with adrenaline pumping in his veins, slammed his body against his brother's locked door to his bedroom. This had been where he'd spent many intimate moments with Greg, it only seemed fitting this be where it all concluded. Another slam as he pummeled himself mercilessly against the thick door. Finally giving way as John stood close behind, Sherlock stood in absolute horror as his elder brother, Mycroft Holmes, lay splayed across his duvet with pool of blood surrounding his head. A gun, only meters away from his lifeless hand. A hole in the wall where the bullet had ventured into his office in the next room. John was beside himself as he ventured closer to Sherlock. "Sherlock.. are you alright?" His concern emulating from his voice. Sherlock was speechless and slowly approached his brother's body and hovered over it in grief. Never had John seen this side of Sherlock Holmes and it sent shivers running through his spine. He watched as Holmes grieved over Holmes. It was a bitter end to a tragic love story, one worthy of Shakespeare himself.


End file.
